Gorki's The Russian Peasant begins with the following words: "People who have long held me in great esteem have asked me what I think of Russia. All that I think of my country, or to be more precise, of the Russian people and of the peasants who make up the majority of it, is very painful to me."
What is the origin of this hatred toward the Russian peasantry, of this resentment of which Gorki makes himself the spokesman? He was certainly the spokesman of a certain current of opinion, otherwise it is hard to imagine him publishing such a manifesto in 1922. Of course, as we have seen, there were immediate class interests at stake: the status of the intellectual was bound up with the protection of a cultural heritage threatened by the masses; the struggle over supplies between city and countryside left deep scars and the seeds of mutual resentment. But one senses something older in this hatred, something that would have had time to take hold: the result of a long brooding suddenly sharpened by circumstances. Where does this hatred come from? I asked a Soviet historian. He rejects the term "hatred" β how could he not, given that Gorki remains an officially venerated author? β In his view, it reflects the turn taken by a great number of Russian intellectuals of his generation who, carried along by the "populist" current, went to preach socialism in the most remote parts of the countryside, were rather badly received, and returned filled with bitterness toward the peasantry.
Having witnessed comparable phenomena, I readily believe in this reversal. Passing from mystical adoration to disgust, so to speak without transition, is a natural movement of exaltation on the part of the intellectual petty bourgeoisie. In France, shortly before or after 1968, I saw young intellectuals "establish" themselves among the workers and enter the factory with the religious fervour of men to whom absolute truth was at last about to be revealed, only to later, after a difficult or failed experience, abandon the "establishment" declaring that the workers were irremediably embourgeoisΓ©s, even rotten or fascist. It is true that this was not how the majority of "established" workers felt or acted, but that talkative minority of embittered men fed an entire anti-worker ideology in certain currents after 1968. Others followed the same path "Γ l'Γ©conomie," that is, without the physical setting of the establishment: they simply passed from a mystically pro-worker rhetoric to a pathologically anti-worker one. Having seen this in France leads me to believe that something similar could have occurred in Russia, following the return of intellectual missionaries disappointed by their rural experience. Gorki refers to the way Russian literature reflected the reversal:
"The literature of the friends of the people was in the service of political agitation and of peasant idealism. But at the end of the nineteenth century, literature's attitude toward the countryside and the peasant changed radically, becoming less self-pitying and more truthful. This new attitude was established by Anton Chekhov in his stories In the Ravine and The Peasants."
Gorki suggests that he himself had undergone a similar journey:
"But where is that kind and reflective Russian peasant, that tireless seeker of truth and justice, of whom nineteenth-century Russian literature spoke to the world in such beautiful and persuasive terms? In my youth, I persevered in my search for such a man in the villages of Russia, and I did not find him. What I did find was a harsh and severe realist."
The disillusionments of intellectual youth tend to be vengeful. Is there any hatred worse than the one that follows a disappointed love? The success or failure of the union between young intellectuals and the working and peasant masses is, in periods of revolutionary expansion, a complex but crucial question: if these forces fail to find common ground, if the ideology of the young intellectuals (who play an important role in the production of cultural objects and superstructures) forms itself in opposition to the diffuse ideology of the deeper forces of the people, a decisive union is undermined from the outset.
The failure, at the end of the nineteenth century, of the attempt to fuse β through "populism" β the ideology of the people with a part of the Russian intellectual youth and the peasantry led, in the short term, to expressions of despair and attempts at nihilism. In the long term, this failure secreted the poison of a fiercely anti-peasant ideology across broad sectors of the socialist intelligentsia and among many of those who would become cadres of the Revolution.
This ideological legacy was an important element in the general objective situation of the class struggle in Russia throughout the early years of the twentieth century. The line of a political party can change, the decisions of Soviet central power can shift within hours, but the fundamental attitudes of classes and social groups toward one another do not change overnight. The many-sided conflict between city and countryside, which was constant from the beginning of the Revolution, also bears this mark.
Lenin, los campesinos y Taylor, by R. Linhart (Ed. Dos Cuadrados)


















